Olivia’s POV

The door to my room pushed open, and Lady Fiona entered. Our eyes met, and I didn't bother hiding my frown. She slowly sat beside me on the bed. I shifted, creating space between us. I still harbored deep grudges.

“Olivia, I’m glad you’re back. I was so worried,” she said softly, her voice laced with genuine concern.

But I wasn’t moved. My heart remained untouched.

“I believe you have something to say,” I said sharply, cutting to the point.

She sighed, nodding slowly. “It’s about Anita,” she began.

My frown deepened. I turned to meet her gaze. “And what about Anita?” I asked, my tone already sharp with anger.

She hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough to tell me I wouldn’t like what she had to say.

“The Alphas are angry with her,” she said carefully. “They want to send her to the dungeon to await trial… but you can stop them.”

I felt something inside me snap. I stood abruptly, arms folded tightly across my chest as I stared down at her. “Really?” I scoffed. “So now you want to plead for Anita?”

My voice rose, filled with pain and anger. “But when your precious sons treated me like dirt, hurt me, humiliated me, and broke me, you stayed silent! You didn’t speak to them. You didn’t correct them. Not even once!”

Her eyes widened. “That’s not true, Olivia. I spoke to them, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“That’s not enough!” I shouted. “You’re their mother, Lady Fiona! If you really wanted to help me, you could have done more. You should have done more. You watched me live in pain—emotionally, mentally, physically—and all you did was watch!”

Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I truly am.”

“I don’t want your apology,” I snapped.

She looked away before speaking again. “Anita deserves punishment, I won’t argue that. But she’s pregnant. That’s why I’m asking you—please, speak to the triplets. Ask them not to punish her now. Let her give birth… then they can do whatever they want.”

I stared at her, my voice low and shaking. “I will do no such thing.”

Her lips parted in shock.

“If the triplets refuse to make Anita pay for what she did, then I will. I will make her pay—for kidnapping me, for selling me like an object, for everything.”

I took a shaky breath. “And you—when my father was arrested, you didn’t speak on his behalf. You didn’t defend him to your husband. He was killed, and you did nothing. What makes you think I will speak on behalf of Anita?” I snapped, my tone rude, but I didn’t care. I was done being the innocent, naive, respectful Olivia.

Her eyes filled with regret, but I didn’t care.

“I hate you,” I said, spilling out what I’d been dying to say for years. “I hate this entire Luciano family. And once I prove my father’s innocence, you will all pay for what you did to him… and to me.”

Lady Fiona looked stunned, her lips trembling. Nothing came out.

I turned away, refusing to look back.

“Lady Fiona, please leave my room.”

Lady Fiona rose slowly from the bed, visibly shaken. For the first time, I saw her completely speechless. I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell her eyes were glossy, her mouth slightly parted as if she wanted to speak, but couldn’t.

I didn’t give her the chance.

“Please leave,” I said coldly, without turning.

She lingered a moment before whispering, “I hope someday you find a place in your heart to forgive us.”

I didn’t respond.

The door closed softly behind her, and I was left alone. I stood there for a moment, breathing hard, trying to stop my hands from shaking. My chest ached—not just from the anger—but from all the bottled-up pain I’d carried for far too long.

They all failed me. Every. Single. One. The triplets. Lady Fiona. Even Alpha Damon, who once claimed to respect my father.

I walked to the mirror and looked at myself. Pain and lingering tears filled my eyes. I placed my hand gently over my chest.

“I’m going to clear your name, Dad,” I whispered. “And when I do… they’ll all regret everything they’ve done.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door. I turned sharply. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Nora!” came her voice from behind the door.

I exhaled. “Come in.”

She stepped in cautiously, followed by Lolita, both holding a tray of food and a small bowl of herbs.

Lolita gave me a worried smile. “We figured you might not have eaten.”

I blinked and sighed. “Thanks,” I muttered.

They exchanged a glance before setting the tray down. Nora cleared her throat. “So… what did Fiona want?”

“Nothing worth talking about,” I said, waving it off and sinking onto the bed again.

Nora arched a brow. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay then…” Lolita sat beside me, nudging me lightly. “But if you need us to help you hide a body, we’ve got shovels.”

I smirked at her joke. “Good to know.”

They both giggled. The heaviness in my chest lifted slightly, enough to let me breathe.

“I’m going to get justice for my father,” I said suddenly.

Nora looked at me seriously. “And we’re with you. Whatever it takes.”

Lolita nodded. “I’ll make a call to my uncle… let’s see if he has any news for us.”

I nodded. “And I will need a phone. There should be money in the drawer… please bring it out,” I said to Nora, who nodded and went for it.

That was the money I’d been saving—my weekly upkeep money from the past three months as Luna.

Nora took out the stack of money and brought it to the bed. I gestured for her to count it.

She sat down and began flipping through the neatly folded bills. After a moment, she looked up. “It’s close to forty thousand.”

I nodded, satisfied. “That should be enough.”

Lolita blinked in surprise. “That’s a lot. You’ve been saving your upkeep money?”

I shrugged. “I’ve been saving it every week since I became Luna. I didn’t need luxury—I was preparing for something more important.”

Nora looked at me curiously. “And what are you going to do with it now?”

“I’m getting a phone—one that can’t be tracked easily. And I’ll hire a private investigator from outside the pack, someone skilled, someone who will help me investigate who forged a letter….”

I should have suspected Anita wrote those letters, but no… not the Anita I grew up with. Anita isn’t skilled or intelligent; a fourteen-year-old Anita could never have written those words. I’m sure it wasn’t her… but that doesn’t mean she might not be involved, because I don’t know who else would benefit from the triplets hating me.